Then he began to count the chances of escape.

His sword had been removed, and his pistols were still in the holsters beside his unfortunate horse.

He was unarmed, then, even if he could free himself, and his captors were at least a dozen in number.
There were three on ahead, riding abreast along the white, moonlit road.
Then there was one on each side, and he should judge by the clatter of hoofs that there could not be fewer than half a dozen behind.

That would make exactly twelve, including the coachman, too many, surely, for an unarmed man to hope to baffle.

At the thought of the coachman he had glanced through the glass front at the broad back of the man, and he had suddenly, in the glimmer of the carriage lamp, observed something which struck him with horror.
The man was evidently desperately wounded.